Five

Happy 5th birthday, little man. You're my favorite sidekick, my best cuddler, my personal food critic, my defender, my stunt man.

I say this as though he reads my blog. I'd explain my reasonings, but I have to go put Happy Birthday, Gianni, on my Facebook wall, as though he has Facebook. 

I will leave you with funny pictures. Cuz he's a funny boy. And we have had no weird doctor visits this whole year! I mean, we've had normal ones, but no embedded Q-tips in body parts, no allergic reactions, no flesh eating bacterias, no stitches! I'd say 2012 was a good year for the G-Man. 

Aw! He's so much cuter than a bowling ball! That 24 hr labor was worth it!

I'm sorry, what? My parents are who?

Totally found it like this.

Only room for one cute kid. Take her back to Walmart, mom.

Again! Get lost, sister!

Bringing sexy back. Look at those abs!

I said, milk! Bring me milk! And maybe some pretzels!

Do these glasses make me look fat?

Time to escape this fully clothed society...

How YOU doin?

Uh. Yeah. I have no witty caption for this one.

He's handsome from every angle!

Again with the nudity. I apologize.

I miss his curls.

Rudddddde.

Happy birthday.

31

Happy birthday, Laryssa Kate.

Little sis.

Wearer of Sally Jessie Raphael glasses.

And chicken hats.

Lover of Bryan Adams and Christian Slater.

Feet that make ballerinas weak.

The cool sister.

The crazy sister.

Better at hip hop than I.
Of course, so is my cocker spaniel.

Was my doula.

I was kinda her's, but I kept falling asleep. Is it my fault if her kids like to be born in the wee hours after upteen hours of labor?

Pictured above with the mopcap.
We were homeschooled and into tea parties.
Don't judge.
Yes, that's me on top and two of our best friends. Evidently one thought she had a career in music. It's good to know, Aerie dear, that if your science career doesn't pan out, you can start singing again.

Kindly shares custody of Nathan Fillian with me.
In our heads.

Owned a VW bus and moved away too young.

Came back and ever so nicely gave me two nieces and a nephew. (She's giving like that).

Sharer of all my favorite memories.

Best friend.

Dad

Happy birthday, Papa.

We love you so much, we'd like to eat your face.

Or have tea parties with you.

Sorry about that time we went all Godfather on you.

And buried you alive in small children as you rested your weary bones on the hammock.

And the pink hat.  It really made your eyes pop though.

We know you're going to enjoy being 29.

We mailed your Bloody Mary Asparagus and pickled jalapenos the other day and hope they arrive at your doorstep in one piece and not in a soggy box. They're tasty. Promise. There's a blank check in there, too - you just fill in the amount! I hope I remembered to put it in. Well, it's the thought that counts, I 'spect.

Thanks for being Papa to all these chitlins, Dad to every friend I've ever had, and Daddy to me.

Happy Cinco de Dave-o!

double digits

Today my little Roo turns ten.

TEN!

Ack!

I remember turning ten. I think.

I got black high-tops with velcro.  They went well with my layered pairs of rolled down socks and pegged jeans.

But this isn't about me.

She was a bald, chubby little pufalump.  Good natured and goofy. 

Still is.

Had a tendency to get dirty and was very accident prone.  Usually those two qualities went hand in hand.

But always photogenic.

How much did I love this dress?  Quite a lot.  Please mail me one baby so I can dress her, STAT.  I do still have this dress.  I have a compulsion to get rid of things, but I do still have this dress.  I think.  Maybe I don't.  Maybe my sister has it.  No matter, keep the babies coming please.

Sometimes when you're the Middler, you have to put the kabosh on the Elder.  You know, by sitting on her after you fold her like a cheese sandwich in a small baby doll crib.

Now she looks like this, which is extremely odd because those other photos were taken last month.  I am sure of it.

Pardon me while I go sing "Sunrise, Sunset" and cry.

Please pray for me.  I may end up one of those scary old ladies who carry around a Cabbage Patch doll and think it's real.  I already have the dress, for the love of Pete.  It's not looking good for me.

Happy birthday, Annalise Rose!

34

Eggs Benedict, homemade by my spunky little sidekicks...


...pajamas and braids on the couch with endless coffee and American Pickers...


...an hour on Pinterest where I planned a dinner party in Heaven (you're all invited)...


...homemade headband that makes me feel bohemian chic (and doesn't squeeze my big head.  Also, hides my roots)...


...the sound of Moose telling me I'm his "best girl..."


...then promptly letting loose a barking spider that leaves me in a green mushroom cloud of poisonous fumes that may indeed melt my face...


...a dinner date with hubby (I'm thinking gelato for dinner is a supremely sublime idea)...


...my sissy, mama, and my nieces and nephew coming to see me...


It must be my birthday or something.

   

salad cake, hold the Ranch

My mommy-in-law has an enviable figure that she keeps svelte, you see, due to a mad, crazy, frenzied love affair with salad.  She loves salad the way some people love their gambling habits, spouses, or Tim McGraw.

Aw, Tim. Why don't you love me back? Why?

Anyway, she isn't a big fan of sugar or fat, or fatty sugars, so we baked her a birthday cake and disguised it as salad.

Sorry about the fuzzy photo...setting was wrong.  Either that or I should have licked the frosting off the lens better.

Here.  This one is shinier.

Like the croutons?  They're cake.  I dazzle myself with my creativity sometimes.

Okay, I saw the idea somewhere else.

The veggies are marzipan, which taste better than fondant.  Plus, I couldn't find fondant and the lady at Fred Meyer kept trying to tell me how to make fondue.

So, there you go:  diet cake, light on the sugar and heavy on the veg.
Not really.  But it goes better with coffee and fuzzy socks than cuddling up with a tossed salad.

Birthday Cake

This week it's Birthday Week here at my house.  The two men in my life, my two main squeezes, the two guys who really float my boat, have turned 4 and not-4, respectively.

So, as I am forced to play Monopoly Deal for the eleventy-seventh time today, I am typing one handedly a recipe for you.  You, my little sweets.  Here you go:


Chocolate Fudge Cake with Edible Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Instead-of-Frosting Frosting


Mix in bowl:

1 2/3 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
2/3 cocoa (baking, not instant hot chocolate, silly pickle)
1 1/2 teaspoons soda (baking, not ginger ale, dingaling)
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups buttermilk (or milk with a splash of lemon juice in it to make it lumpy and nasty)
1/2 cup shortening
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla

Ask your four year old to turn on the mixer.  Tell him to turn it on ONE.  He will turn it immediately on the highest setting.  Change your clothes and comb cocoa powder out of your hair.  Have the dog lick up the batter that splatters on the floor.  Threaten small child.  When mixed, bake at 350 40 minutes, or if your oven is like my oven and likes to compete in the Indy 500 of ovens, 30 minutes.

Cool.

Spread with:

 Edible Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough:

Cream together 2 sticks of butter with 1 cup sugar and 1/2 cup brown sugar
Add 1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon each soda and salt
2 1/2 cups flour
2 cups chocolate chips

I personally think cookie dough is kinda foul, but most people find it a guilty pleasure.  I find a large bar of Lindt Dark Chocolate with Sea Salt in my purse more of a guilty pleasure, or sipping a glass of Merlot while watching  Parenthood on my DVR a guilty pleasure, but to each his own.  Needless to say, a cake spread with cookie dough will make your little kids eyeballs pop out with delight.  Stick a candle on it and you're done.

Happy birthday, my little crumb cakes!

This recipe was linked up at http://www.littlehouseliving.com/2011/11/old-fashioned-recipe-exchange-11-1.html which is a very sweet little website.

Bday Pics

Cora and a new buddy and some weird toddler we found.

                             A gift to hang on her bedroom wall, should she ever get a bedroom!

                         C and Great Gramma Nancy.  Can you see the Italian resemblance?

Party crasher.  We fed him cake and suckers and soda and then sent him home to his momma.                                            
                                                        Wait! That'd be me.  Sigh.

                                                                 C and her Papa.

Umm.  Yeah.  Party guests.  Never seen them before in my life.

Her.  Me.

Cora is eleven

My little babycakes is eleven today.  I will save you all the whining, sobbing, and melodramatic antics that I usually perform on these birthdays and just say,

Happy birthday, little girl of mine.


You're spunky, fearless, argumentative, ornery, smart, not graceful, sassy, snuggly, loyal, fierce, hungry, silly, funny, huggable, ridiculous, loving.


Give me back my shoes and stop getting taller immediately.


Thank you.


And have fun fishing today.  I wuv you. 

Happy birthday, Anna Rose

Turning the big 0 - 1...

I loved this leopard print outfit...she wore it like, once.  Which is odd, because it would've fit the shrimp for probably another year.

She was such a coiffure challenged little girl.

Oh my heart, that little belly!

Dirt seemed to find her wherever she went...

Finally!  Enough hair for pigtails!  Eureka and pass the rubberbands!

This was number two birthday.  Note the tutu over the sweat pants.  This was the year of the princess dresses and moon boots and the year she rocked the mullet.

She doesn't wear tutus anymore (sigh). Or moon boots (sigh...of relief).  

She is still a shrimp.

Still has big brown eyes.

Still gets dirty.

Still is her own person.

But now she's nine.

I don't understand how that happened.

Please mail any spare, big eyed, no haired, chubby little elf babies to me soon.  I will take very good care of them, and I won't let these ones grow up.  Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye if I lie. 

The Birthday Moose

                                                                      Party exhaustion.

 Tractor cake!!  Cora, Anna, Papa, and Schroeder made the fondant barnyard animals.  Aunt Lary sent the tractors.  Dirt was really crushed up chocolate graham crackers.  Grass was green coconut. 

                                                                    
                                                                     First haircut.
                                                                       Hold me.
                                                     My wacky hormones want more babies!
                                                    Stop me before I populate the earth again!
                                                              My baby boy is a man.
                                                         Gasp.  Wheez.  Can't breathe.

When it's a birthday, you got it, you all must suffer through my birth story.  Hey, I had to live through it, the least you can do is commiserate with me.

I always want to start every story with "Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin..." or "I was born a poor black child..."  I should probably stop watching movies.

Gianni is our third little bundle of joy.  We had planned on adopting and had started the paperwork (to this day I keep wondering who sent in their recommendation to the adoption agency...was it you?) but lo and behold, decided to go the old fashioned route instead and made one from scratch.  I am a fairly good pregnant lady, if you can get past the nausea, backaches, extreme mood swings, violent emotional outbursts, insomnia, and crying jags.  I always "show" really early, resulting in rude strangers asking if my 'twins are about to born at any second.'  Luckily, I stop growing at about 6 or 7 months and then all those same strangers coo about how 'little I look.'  Although that could be due to the extreme and violent outbursts.  Anywho.  I overcook my babies to the point of cajun style so I tend to be a tad bit cranky when my due date comes and goes and no baby.  Cora and Anna were C-section kids and I won't get into a big ol' debate, but I was pretty much done going that route and after researching and researching we decided to take the road less traveled and hope that three times was the charm.  I had a lovely midwife and a lovely doula and a lovely birthing center.  After having had three kids three different ways (scheduled C, emergency C, and VBAC) I can now say with all fervency and certainty, if I ever have a fourth it's because technology has advanced to the point of beaming out babies, Star Trek style.

Happy third birthday, my little Moose, my little Luigi, my little goober!  You were so worth it and you are the sunshine in our house.